Unpredictable Love

  “At least two men in there with Laetitia,” Tavish whispered back, moving to make room for Sebastian. He gestured for Sebastian to circle around the other way. “I’ll go get the man with the knife. See if you can find the other one.”

  In profile, on his knees, the most scar-faced man Tavish had ever seen was covering Laetitia’s mouth with one hand and holding a knife to her throat with the other. It was clear to Tavish that the man didn’t have a clue about how to handle a hostage, which made him relieved, but the fact that the brute had touched and hurt Laetitia made him mad. Don’t look at her. Yet his eyes strayed down over her: one of her eyes was swelling, her blouse and bra were torn, and her jeans were gone, but she was still wearing her panties. She’ll be OK. She will be.

  From the corner of her eye, Laetitia saw Tavish’s huge form crawl in her direction. No, no, no. Stay back.

  “The police are here,” Leon blustered. “Let her go, and I’ll get you a fair hearing.”

  “How do you want to bury her? In pieces? That can be arranged,” Andrew shouted back. “How about one of her freakish ears as a starter?”

  Aye, keep him talking, keep him talking. Tavish kept an eye on the man’s hand, crawling closer, closer.

  Leon checked his pockets for more bullets. “Laetitia? Do you hear me?”

  “Come on, answer the old man.” Andrew’s hand moved to her hair and pulled her head back.

  Come on, Laetitia. You have to do something. She tried to speak, but only a hoarse moan left her. You can do better. She relaxed her whole weight on Andrew’s arm. He was not expecting it and swayed on his knees. “Geoffrey? Where are you?” Andrew asked. “Geoffrey?”

  Geoffrey’s answer was a loud oath, when Sebastian flung himself over his crawling body, knocking him out with a well-placed fist to the head. “I’ve got one, Doc.”

  Laetitia turned her head and saw Tavish.

  Nae, nae. Doona do something stupid. He saw her eyes in the darkness, wide and frightened. Shaking his head and putting a finger to his lips, he motioned for her to remain calm.

  With her good eye, she blinked. And flinched in pain.

  Tavish freed all his demons and let them take control.

  Leon grimaced at the stupidity of it all. He could see trails of blood running down Laetitia’s already-swollen face and throat. Then he spotted Tavish, who was moving in the same direction, trying to get his attention. He nodded, reloaded, and raised his rifle.

  “Release her,” he shouted, at the same time Tavish ordered, “Let her go.”

  “Dream on, you fucks.” Andrew stood up. Pulling Laetitia by her hair, he laughed maniacally and pressed the sgian-duhb between her breasts. “Watch me kill her.”

  Leon fired.

  CHAPTER 47

  Amid wailing sirens, bright lights, and shouts, all Laetitia could feel was Tavish’s strong arms around her.

  She gritted her teeth, fighting the pain raging through her, as he leaped out of the lodge to the ambulance, holding her, shouting orders to the paramedics. “Tav—”

  When she coughed—an ugly rattling sound leaving the mouth of the wee woman in his arms—he promised himself he would satisfy his wrath later, but for now he would focus solely on her. In a quiet and calm tone, he soothed her. “I’m here, Laetitia. Ye’re safe.”

  “It . . . hurts.”

  I know, my Little Elf. He entered the ambulance and laid her down on the stretcher, squeezing her hand. “Ye’re going tae be fine.”

  She tried to rise. “Stay.”

  “I’m no’ going anywhere,” he said, pressing her back down. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he reassured, “I’ll be with ye. All times.”

  “Sir, this is a load-and-go situation,” said one of the paramedics, who was still outside the ambulance. “You have to—”

  Tavish swirled his head and snarled, “Fuck off.”

  The medic raised his hands and backed away, signaling to his companion to get in.

  A strangled sound, much like a sob, called Laetitia’s attention. She glanced around Tavish to the ambulance door, where stood the man she had met in the park many nights before—the man who had killed Andrew. “Thank . . . you.”

  “I’m sorry, Laetitia.” Her name scratched its way through Leon’s throat. “I’m so sorry.”

  Who are you? Her mouth opened, but her thoughts grew hazy. A needle prickled her arm, and something cold filled her veins. She was alive, and Tavish was beside her. Nothing else mattered. Blackness beckoned.

  Leon lowered his head in shame. Despite saving her now, he felt that everything was his fault. If he hadn’t been so strict. If he’d been more forgiving toward her mother. If he hadn’t run his household like a military barracks. So many things he could’ve done differently. And if he had, he wouldn’t be watching his granddaughter being driven off now in the back of an ambulance. The cascade of guilt-laden thoughts overwhelmed him, and he felt unsteady on his feet.

  “Air Marshall Camden?” a male voice asked. “Sir, are you OK?”

  He felt a hand on his arm but shrugged it away, firming his legs to remain upright.

  Someone pulled the ambulance doors closed from inside.

  Then, not caring if there were others around—or who they were—Air Chief Marshall Sir Leon Camden dropped to his knees and broke down crying as he watched the ambulance drive away with the most important thing in his life.

  Lakeside Manor

  Saturday, November 1, 2014

  8:00 a.m.

  There was only pain—pain and hushed words in the gloom. Where am I?

  Her eyes and mouth were shut, unwilling to open as the medication coursing through her veins did its job, leaving her blind and mute. She fought the effect, seeking a way out of the fog that surrounded the darkness, to no avail.

  The hushed whispers of male voices, which came from far away, reached her ears.

  “Sophia has already spoken with the journalists,” a male voice was saying, “and they’ve agreed to leave Lakeside Manor on the promise of a press conference as soon as she feels better. The bastards.”

  Press?

  “And the police?” another male voice spit out.

  A deep, quiet voice, which resonated inside her. Tavish Uilleam. She tried in vain to move her hand, but nothing would respond.

  “They have arrested an Alejandro something, who was their informant, and opened the Beardley gates,” Hugh answered. “And Irish police have already been contacted about the cult and have busted the fuckers.”

  “I want all of them locked up for the rest of their lives.” Tavish’s voice was so full of anger it felt palpable to Laetitia.

  “They will. Don’t you worry,” said Alistair in a firm tone. “And Air Marshall Camden was released after interrogation. I called in some favors and guaranteed no charges are being pressed against him. Yet. Tavish Uilleam, he wants to talk to her.”

  Who is Air Marshall Camden? The voices became clearer, a tremulous light in the darkness, but they threw more shadows over the confused state she was in. And what does he want with me?

  “Understandable, but it’s up tae her,” Tavish said dryly.

  “I invited him to stay here, Will,” Hugh said. “But if you want me—”

  “Nae, he can stay. Unless, she wants him gone.” Tavish sighed, loudly and tiredly.

  “You should rest. Sleep for a few hours,” Alistair said. “Sophia can stay with her.”

  No. Don’t leave me.

  “Alistair Connor. This subject is closed. I’m no’ leaving her.”

  She relaxed, and unconsciousness claimed her once more, stealing her away from confusion and pain.

  11:00 a.m.

  Laetitia woke with a start. The pain was still there, but less throbbing. She had to force her heavy-lidded eyes to open. For a moment, she had no recollection of where she was or why she was in such an unfamiliar place.

  She looked around and found Tavish sitting in an armchair by the bed, an ankle over his knee, his left arm draped over
its back, a crystal glass tumbler of whisky in his hand. His right elbow rested on the arm of the chair, with his chin propped on the back of his hand.

  His face was haggard, there were shadows under his eyes, and a day’s growth of whiskers darkened his jaw, emphasizing its strong, squared cut.

  When he noticed she was awake, he tossed back the remainder of his drink and placed the glass on the floor. Without a word, he came to her and held her hand in his. Say something, Sprite. Anything. In the morning light, his sea-green eyes burned with a grave intensity.

  She tried to smile, but a sob left her lips.

  “Cry, my Little Elf.” Tavish’s deep, low murmur was soothing. He gathered her carefully in his arms and tucked her against his chest. “Cry.”

  And Laetitia cried.

  She cried for the utterly senseless loss of her deceased mother and her dead baby, the horror of her stolen childhood and of her innocence.

  She cried for her painful adolescence, the betrayal of her love, and the wasted years living in fear and loneliness.

  She cried for all the many wrongs that would never be righted.

  “He’s gone.” He rocked her in his arms, his touch full of kindness and gentleness. “It is all in the past, Little Elf. All in the past.”

  She glanced up at him, her face barely visible under the curtain of her hair. With a final, painful sob, Laetitia whispered, “Is it? Will I ever be free?”

  Her voice was still hoarse from Andrew’s choking, and it enraged him. He brushed the locks of pale-blonde hair from her face.

  “Never doubt the strength of your wings, Laetitia,” he said, tracing the delicate angel wings tattooed on her back. A mere brush of skin over skin. “What happened to you is much more than a sane person can bear. And you are right here. Whole. All of the darkness of your past that weighted you down is gone. You will fly again. I promise.”

  She let out a trembling sigh and rubbed her hand over her heart. “It’s just . . . it hurts, you know?”

  Aye, I know. “It’ll heal, Little Elf. Everything does,” he assured her quietly.

  “Did it take you long? To heal?”

  It did. “My days were so bleak, unlit and lifeless, it seemed an eternity. Until one day, not so long ago, when an aingeal opened her door for me. It was all of a sudden, totally unexpected, I dinna know what to do, and then . . . then she smiled. Her smile brightened my days, painted my wounds with her colors, and . . . healed my heart.” His forehead touched hers, and he whispered, “It was like that, Snowdrop. With a smile—your beautiful smile—I was healed. You are my precious aingeal.”

  “And you are my star,” she breathed, as her good arm embraced his shoulders and neck. She nestled herself in his arms again, her head on his chest; the steady and strong beat of his heart soothed her fears.

  “You are a wonderful, special woman.” He tipped her chin up with his fingers and pushed her hair back to kiss her forehead.

  Her mouth sought his like a cold person sought fire.

  Tavish slightly tightened his grip around her. His lips softly rested against hers; her shuddered breathing mingled with his.

  Her eyes closed, as did his.

  They melted into each other.

  And they fit.

  They fit, as if their bodies and souls instinctively recognized their missing halves in the other.

  The ever-present nauseous feeling of being on a rough sea during a bad storm was blown away.

  Now, the waters were calm, the sun rising over the ocean, and they were safely in port.

  3:00 p.m.

  “Sophia? Laetitia?” Tavish’s voice reached her in the bathroom.

  “Just a minute,” Sophia told him, as she helped Laetitia don a baby-pink button-down cardigan with the sleeve cut off to accommodate the armpit-to-wrist cast on her arm.

  A hot soup and a quick shower had her feeling better, and Sophia’s unconditional friendship filled Laetitia with warmth. “You’re resourceful.”

  “My left arm was in bandages, pins, and casts for so many months, I learned a lot of tricks,” she explained, as she put a large grayish-taupe capelet over Laetitia’s shoulder and artfully tied a handkerchief on her neck to disguise the bruises. “There, you’re done.”

  Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Laetitia smiled a bit. Even her bruises on her eye had been half-concealed by makeup. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “Now, come, before Lord Impatient starts banging on the door.”

  “Sophia.” Laetitia’s hand stopped Sophia from turning the knob. “I’m scared. About my . . . grandfather.”

  “You wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t,” Sophia answered gently.

  “Shouldn’t I be angry? For all of the things that happened to my mother? To me?” She suddenly didn’t know how to explain it to her and fumbled around for words.

  The knowledge that, but for a fluke, she would never have been in the power of Geoffrey, Sinéad, and Andrew had left her flabbergasted, and she had made Tavish repeat Leon’s story twice.

  She drew a deep breath. “I . . . don’t think I can face him.” If I can forgive him.

  “Laetitia, if you don’t face him, you’ll be forever wondering what could have been.” There was something sad in Sophia’s infinitely gentle words. “And one day, you might regret not having done it.”

  Lakeside Manor Drawing Room

  3:23 p.m.

  Laetitia had imagined staggering shock would be characterized by deafening silence. But no. As she stood by the windows of Lakeside Manor’s private drawing room, watching Leon approaching, she was listening to an out-of-tune symphony: The thump of her erratic heartbeat and the roar of a thousand unspoken words locked in her chest. The yawping of her British bulldog puppy, that they had named Dog, mudded with the whimpers of years of rejection piling up in her throat.

  Then it all whooshed past in a single croaked word: “Stop.”

  Leon swallowed. Unconsciously, he drew himself up straighter, taller, bracing himself for the coming blow. “Laetitia—”

  “I’ve always wondered what it would be like to have a family—to be loved. Sometimes, I hated my unknown parents for being dead and leaving me alone in the hands of those evil people.” Her voice trembled, and she felt Tavish’s arm coming around her shoulders. “Other . . . other times, I fantasized about desperate, loving parents out looking for me, that there was someone—just one someone in this world—that loved me and missed me, who would come, take me away, and care for me. But no one came. And no one ever cared.”

  “I did care, and I still do,” Leon whispered, staring at his granddaughter. Try as he might, he could never stop hoping she would accept him—and forgive him—once he told her the truth. A crash of grief overcame him. He held out a book and laid it in her hands. “I am sorry, Laetitia.”

  Puzzled, she glanced at it. Tavish didn’t say a word. He simply stood beside her, stroking her hair, with his large palms moving slowly, hypnotically.

  The book itself was plain, bound in leather. No writing covered the front or spine of the book. Laetitia turned it over, unsure of what it meant.

  She turned her back to Leon, and her hand shook as she opened the cover. Bold and precise handwriting covered the front page.

  London, February 11th, 1969

  My darling daughter, Eva May,

  My baby. My princess. I love you and I always will.

  Not a day goes past without you in my thoughts. I’m sorry for what I did, and I dream of finding you again and beg for your forgiveness.

  The words rolled together until they formed a love letter, from a very guilty father to the daughter he loved dearly and wanted back in the home he had expelled her from.

  With one glance, that book became a precious treasure. With trembling hands, Laetitia turned the page. The thin paper rustled beneath her shaking fingers as she noticed the wet marks that covered the first pages of the journal.

  Her grandfather’s words.

  He
r grandfather’s tears.

  Each page was dated and full of anguish and repentance, recollections and hopes.

  Tears rolled down Laetitia’s face as she read on. In that book her grandfather’s heart was laid out. Naked to the core.

  She closed her eyes and leaned into Tavish, a shuddering sigh escaping her. Like a rock, his strength anchored her; under its influence, the kaleidoscope of her emotions slowed, then settled—suddenly, everything was clear as the day outside.

  Laetitia stepped out of Tavish’s embrace and turned from the window to stare at Leon. “Grandfather.”

  Leon swallowed, his throat moving. “Can you forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive.” She stepped on and passed an arm around his waist, laying her head on his chest, listening to his quick heartbeat. She felt his arms enveloping her. “Nothing to forgive.”

  It was in moments like this that Tavish remembered why he thought she was an angel. Despite everything that had happened to her, Laetitia had not lost faith or hope or charity. She refused to allow bitterness to touch her heart.

  As he watched Leon enfold Laetitia in his arms, Tavish was filled by the strangest, warmest feeling. It was a sense of privilege, as if he was witnessing one of those small everyday miracles, like a flower, moistened with dew, opening its petals to the warming morning sun, or a foal being licked clean by its new mother.

  Over Laetitia’s head, Leon looked out the window at the lawn. For the first time in years, he saw the beauty of nature. Beside his granddaughter, he could once more appreciate a squirrel racing across the green, without feeling as if his heart would stop. “Your mother loved to chase squirrels when she was a child.”

  Laetitia let out a laugh. “I did, too.”

  EPILOGUE

  Tavish MacCraig’s apartment

  Tuesday, March 3, 2015